


.Stars, Hide Your Fires.

by Sanguis



Series: The Gods Below [5]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Agender Character, Dragons, Other, Stars
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-02
Updated: 2014-07-02
Packaged: 2018-02-07 04:20:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,560
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1884912
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sanguis/pseuds/Sanguis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She dances on her tiptoes; it’s a trick she’d perfected with her siblings, a talent she takes pride in.</p>
            </blockquote>





	.Stars, Hide Your Fires.

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Macbeth, Act 1, Scene 4, Line 52 - William Shakespeare

**Hover for translations**

 

"Stars got tangled in her hair whenever she played in the sky."

\- Laini Taylor

 

 

 284 years after Bartram’s apotheosis.

* * *

 

Qamra makes her dresses from starlight and the deep black sky so that when she flies, she is part of the night. She dances on her tiptoes; it's a trick she'd perfected with her siblings, a talent she takes pride in. Once a week, she has to sing to the stars to convince them to return to their rightful place high up in the sky, and over the centuries she slowly perfects her song.

Some stars just stay, but the world of organic creatures is not for them. To keep them from dying, Qamra sings a lullaby and wraps them in her magic. Some she fashions into knives for Qamar, others in tiaras for herself and bandeaus for Qiturah. She visits Qamar the most often because he's easy to find; his pit and beloved pond are only just beyond the borders of the Sombrae Haetrena forest. Often, one of his offspring sleep on his bed, surrounded with knives, daggers, swords. Her steps are light enough not to disturb them.

Qamar speaks to her in hushed tones "One of my great-grandchildren's children will give birth soon," so Qamra waits to see this new life. She has children in the form of stars, ones she cradles until their last minute of glowing light.

Her brother's children are ethereal nonetheless; half-fish in the water, colourful like a prism refracting light. It's a pity they have no immortality but neither Qamar nor his [Adüe Silü](Silent%20Water) seem preoccupied with this fact, so there must be some gain in watching their offspring grow and fade. There's a certain heartbreak involved that Qamra is not certain she can take.

Qiturah she finds wandering the morning skies, but Qamra has never been fond of flying under the rays of the sun. Still, she loves to watch her beautiful sister fly; her silver-blue scales glint peculiarly. The fragrance of the sea has attached itself to her, mixed with that of earth and wind. They sit on the rocks jutting from the salty waters and watch the sun set; it's the compromise they make, a liminal time between their preferred domains. The water always feels warm and pleasant at night.

"[Baelom kél eme, raessae](Dance%20with%20me,%20sister)," Qamra says to Qiturah. They stand together on their toes and move on the songs they make together - step carefully from rock to rock on the tunes they hum. Qiturah likes to change them abruptly, the quintessence of her mercurial nature; Qamra can find herself in it sometimes, in the flights and the fancy.

When the sun has fully set, Qamra carefully lays her sister in the water, gives her another bandeau of diamonds, and flies to greet the stars. She ascends in circles, transforms to a humanoid lady, and the clouds cling to her dress like lovers. Then she lets herself fall free, and her dress glitters.

And when the sun begins to rise, she gracefully lands in her in her cave in the high mountains, and wishes the stars in her ceiling good morning. She’ll sing them back to their skies when she wakes; for now she sinks into her cushions and lets them tell her their stories.

Her stars wake her with the sound of their murmurs; they sound alarmed, some even furious. Qamra sees nothing at first and she wonders where he beloved stars have gone – no longer do they weave themselves between her hair, or hide in the cracks of the rock of her cave. She follows their mutterings outside, where they’ve twined into a web, and have caught a sombrae haetre. The haetre is remarkably still, though when Qamra faces them, she sees that they blink and frown at the rainy grey sky as if it should bring answers.

“[Ebe fe ümae kovriye…pyaminae](You%E2%80%99re%20a%E2%80%A6peculiar%20creature.),” Qamra says. Few mortal creatures have been so calm in the face of a trap of stars, even sombrae haetrena. Stars are not, after all, worldly things; this world merely saps away their beauty and gives nothing in return, much like humans do to the natural world around them.

But this haetre’s peculiarity does not rest so much in their calm acceptance as in the colour of their eyes – grey, but so light as to seem like stardust. Freckles dot their nose and cheeks, and Qamra spots a few on their forehead. A scar runs from their lip to their nose, which is slightly bent.

“[Fé miye nessü](Is%20it%20my%20nose?%20)?” the haetre asks. Like most haetre, their voice is melodious, though this one has a light lisp. “[O fé miye kirae](Or%20is%20it%20my%20hair)? [Uzjinret, eme fé haenu komssena.](Usually,%20I%20get%20compliments)”

“[Biye wriye](Your%20eyes),” Qamra says. “[Nem fé baevu](They%E2%80%99re%20beautiful). [Biye kirae troma fé baevu, ssae](%20Your%20hair%20is%20also%20pretty,%20yes.).” The haetre’s hair is blond and wavy, short at the back and the sides, longer at the top where it curls above the ear. Smiling, Qamra tells her stars to let the haetre go.

Their name is Ikar; they’d been following the song of the stars until they’d happened upon the mountain. Ikar is sselir, like Qamar’s [Pyodae Yelüna](Pond%20Children) – genderless, and Qamra considers their every movement to be perfect, graceful, and tranquil. They’d climbed the mountain to see the stars better; the mountain is great and wide, close to the sky.

Ikar is tired, sleeps during the day, and then blinks up at the stars like those are wonders they have never seen before. Qamra takes Ikar back to the forest and receives a nightshade flower as a gift – five purple bellflowers. [“Ezj’e Siyare viye Anyuri](For%20the%20Lady%20of%20the%20Night).”

Then, like haetrena are wont to do, Ikar fades into the shadows.

At night, her stars tell her of a shrine at the foot of her mountain; it had been built at dusk, when the sun’s rays left and the stars could see. The night is misty, but as she spreads her wings and glides down, Qamra feels it’s filled with warmth. The shrine grows within the rock in the mountain; the pillars are tall and detailed with art of the constellations. She finds Ikar laying bellflowers carefully upon an altar of white marble.

“[Ebe an traezj eti](You%20built%20this).”

“[Ezj’e Siyare viy’e Megizjae](For%20the%20Lady%20of%20the%20Mountain),” Ikar says. “[E sombrae an yuzje](The%20shadows%20helped).” They make an odd sight – Ikar dressed all in silvery white, glowing, and the shadows curling at his feet like cats. Haetrena are truly inspired people, so steeped within their shroud of darkness and everything macabre. Within shadows, Ikar’s skin seems almost luminescent.

So begins their courtship, with shy smiles and tentative touches. Qamra finds constellations dotted on Ikar’s face, and Ikar’s eyes are like nebulas; they draw her in and tell her more stories than Ikar’s lips can. Ikar doesn’t like their own face, with their scar and bent nose, results of a cleft lip and palate, so Qamra is sure to kiss them lovingly whenever she can, whenever she has Ikar wrapped in her arms. She kisses their lips when their scar pains them, when Ikar’s lips are dry and cracked.

Ikar’s insomnia nearly leaves them narcoleptic during the day, but Qamra has no desire to rise and greet the bright sun. She’s content listening to Ikar’s heart; it beats quicker when Qamra presses her ear against their chest. Ikar watches her sing her stars back into the night sky, and of those that die, he makes the most beautiful things Qamra has ever seen: a flute with tine Pyodae Yelüna on it, two rings for Qamar and E Adüe Silü, and a pendant for Qamra. Both Ikar’s parents are smiths, and their child had been born with a natural talent.

One day Ikar appears with a box, but doesn’t say what’s in it. When Qamra presses her ear against Ikar’s chest, she hears silence. She worries when Ikar frets, but still they seem hesitant to tell, as if it’s utterly embarrassing. It continues for three days, until Ikar disappears for good. At night, her stars tell her that human mages have taken Ikar, and they’ve taken the box. She understands instantly – _Sombrae Haetrena are vulnerable without their hearts._

She finds Ikar in a field of white flowers between the forest and the nearest human village. They lay with their arms stretched out and blood seeping from their mouth. She cradles Ikar’s head on her lap and weeps; Ikar may not be dead, but their heart had belonged to her and her alone. The heart of a born necromancer is indeed valuable, but the heart of a lover is beyond material worth.

The stars fall from her hair in grief. She takes out her own heart, red and full of love, and gives it to Ikar to cherish. “[Nuzjat kefmiy’eti](Do%20not%20eat%20it.%20),” she says softly. “[Nür nuzjat meda Dyure niv](We%20don%E2%80%99t%20need%20new%20Gods).”

“[Eme nuzj tizje meda daera](I%20have%20no%20need%20for%20divinity),” Ikar whispers. “[Ebe fe miye daera](You%E2%80%99re%20my%20divinity).”

The Yibrilna are born from stardust and blood; they breathe silently until they can spread the soft red wings they wrap around their tiny bodies. They take the spilt blood and feed it to the flowers until they turn red, and the field belongs to the Dyurena of the haetrena. Ikar takes three Yibrilna with them to their mountain; together they make a heart of silver to beat in Qamra’s chest.

On the full moon, she sings the stars back into the skies, and Ikar hears the tune echo in their heart.


End file.
